Letting Go and Holding Close
by KCUrquhart
Summary: Three months have passed since Clint came back from the dead. He and Phil are still trying to adjust to the change and the addition of Natasha to their team. Now it's time for the real test: their first mission together. (Continuation of The Way That I Feel, from the Alternate Ending)
1. Chapter 1

"Fuck!" The word rang out around the training room, bouncing off the concrete walls. It came at the same time as a loud thump and a sharp crack. Phil's eyes darted over to where Romanov had Barton pinned to the mat, one arm twisted up behind his back. "That's cheating, you bitch." Barton growled. Romanov's smirk was wicked enough that Phil had to suppress the urge to reach for his gun. "Get off!"

"Not till you say the magic words." Romanov taunted.

Barton groaned, "No… please." He yelped as Romanov put pressure on his arm. "Ow! Fine! I'm your bitch."

"And?..."

"And I'm not worthy to lick the ground you walk on."

"Damn straight." Romanov ground Barton's head into the mat with one of her fists before finally releasing him.

Phil dropped his eyes back to the screen in front of the treadmill he was on. It was turned to a local news channel and was spouting forth the same stream of babble about the housing market as every other channel. At least it was on mute, which made it easy for him to zone out and ignore the text scrolling at the bottom. He pretended to be focused though, because he was still all too aware of Barton's exact position in the gym.

It'd been over three months since Barton had come back but it still wasn't any easier seeing him every day. Phil didn't get how Barton did it, pretending like nothing had happened. Every time Phil turned around, it was to find Baron and Romanov together, laughing and joking or training and sparring. Their relationship worked on Phil's nerves and he had started avoiding them to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like tearing Clint away and pressing him up against the nearest wall and kissing him until they were both out of air.

Phil sensed more than heard Romanov's presence approaching behind him, but he didn't turn around. Phil kept running, his steady pace and even breaths the only sound in the now empty room. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to leave, Phil pushed the button to stop the treadmill and rode it to the end. He dropped softly to the floor and spun to face Romanov who was staring at him, her face a bland mask that Phil would never admit to being jealous of.

"Can I help you with something, Agent Romanov?" Phil crossed his arms as her gaze bore into him.

"If I am to be a part of this team, sir, then I need to be aware of anything that may cause issues in the field."

Phil nodded and squeezed his arms tighter around himself. The question felt personal and invasive despite not actually being a question. But that was one of the reasons SHIELD had hired her. She saw everything and could slice through the fluff and get right to the heart of a matter. Phil should have known better than to hope that she wouldn't notice the awkwardness between him and Barton. That didn't mean he had to give in to her interrogation so easily though. "I can assure you that if there were anything that I felt threatened your safety; I would discuss it with you immediately."

Phil moved to take a step towards the locker room but Romanov blocked his path. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the minute movement enough to scream that she wasn't in the mood for games. "Then you and I disagree on what constitutes a threat to my safety. Discord between my handler and my partner is a threat, in my opinion."

Phil sighed. "Is there something you are trying not to ask?"

Romanov's lips curled up into a smile that made the hairs on the back of Phil's neck stand on end. "What exactly is your relationship with Agent Barton?"

"He is my asset, I am his handler. Nothing more." It was the truth and Phil had said the phrase hundreds of times over the last few months. Yet it never lost its sting. It never stopped feeling like the words were shards of glass tearing at his throat. Painful reminders of the happiness he'd had ripped away from him and how hard it was to get it back. "Now, if that's all."

Romanov laid a gentle hand on his chest, holding him in place. "Is that all you have ever been?"

Phil sighed and gritted his teeth. "I have told you everything you need to know. If you still have questions, you should ask Agent Barton." Phil took a step forward and Romanov's nails dug into his chest, her arm an unmoving force.

"I have tried." She whispered. "Whenever I broach the topic he changes the subject and then spends the next six hours on the range. So now I am asking you. Were you and Clint ever more than what you are now?"

"Yes." The word was so soft he wasn't sure if he'd actually spoken it.

"You were dating." She asked, her voice as soft as his; not really a question, just her stating what she knew from her observations.

"Yes."

"You lived together."

"Yes."

"You broke it off."

"No!" Romanov's eyes widened a fraction at Phil's sudden anger. "The relationship ended on his terms, not mine. It did, however, stay ended on my terms. But that's what tends to happen when someone is dead for 7 months."

Romanov's hand fell, finally releasing Phil, but he didn't move. "You still love him?" It was the first time he'd ever heard her sound uncertain in one of her conclusions.

"Yes."

"Do you realize that he still loves you?" She tipped her head, like she was trying to make sense of the situation.

"Yes."

"So – "

"No." Phil cut her off; turning his sternest gaze on her and relishing in the walls he saw go up behind her eyes. It was nice to know he could affect the infamous Black Widow. "He is my asset. I am his handler. Nothing. More."

-;-

The warm water ran over Clint's sore muscles, washing away some of the stiffness. He groaned as the pressure landed on one of the bruises forming on his skin. Nat was learning all of his weak spots and showed no hesitancy in exploiting them. Pretty soon he'd have to resort to using cheap tricks like hair pulling if he wanted to last more than five minutes against her.

The door to the locker room clicked open and shut, followed by the steady beat of familiar footsteps. All of the tension flooded back into Clint's body, his muscles taut in an instant.

Speaking of his weak spots.

Clint had promised to give Phil as much time and space as he needed. Only, he hadn't expected it to take this long. Over three months and Phil had yet to meet Clint's eye or crack a smile or give any sign that it was getting better. Nothing to show that he was any closer to forgiving Clint; to trusting him again.

That was the hardest part, standing there, listening to Phil moving around just 20 feet away and remembering everything they used to be and knowing that he may never have it again. All of the lazy Sunday mornings together, the hours spent watching crappy reality tv, the smiles over morning coffee, he'd traded them all for this: this emptiness that gnawed at his soul. The lack of trust still brought Clint to his knees whenever he let his mind linger on it. So few people had ever trusted Clint, wholly and truly. He hadn't even realized how much he loved having that from Phil until it was gone.

Phil had told him, one night at their apartment, that he had a sixth sense about those things. He could size up a person or situation with a single glance, his subconscious making connections at lightning speed. The first time he'd seen Clint, he had trusted him implicitly. And now Clint had thrown it all away like a spoiled child.

The door slammed shut and the silence only amplified the ache in Clint's chest. He let out a guttural scream and lashed out, punching the tile wall.

;;;

A few hours later, Clint found himself in a briefing room, staring at the image of the Pope that filled the far screen. "Oh, please tell me the Pope is an alien that I get to kill." Clint smirked up at Fury, who glared back at him. "Or maim. I'm not picky." He shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the conference table. He didn't back down from Fury's gaze, keeping his fake cocky grin plastered onto his face, a task he'd perfected over the last few months.

"The Pope is not our target, sorry." Fury growled. "You'll have to take out your problems with the Church some other way."

"Hey! I ain't got nothing – " Clint wavered as every head in the room turned to give him a skeptical look. They all knew about his time at St. Mary's Orphanage. "Fine, whatever." He sank lower into his chair.

"Intelligence has reported an assassin that has worked his way up through the higher ranks of the Church." Fury continued the briefing and almost everyone turned their attention back to him. Clint tried to focus on what Fury was saying, rather than the weight of Coulson's eyes on him. When the image behind Fury switched to the face of another man, Clint risked a glance towards Coulson. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and in that one second Clint felt his world slip away entirely until it was just them. Until none of the last year had happened and this was just any other briefing. Until he could imagine, just for a moment, that Phil still wanted him.

"This is our target." Hill's words broke through the moment and Coulson's eyes flicked towards the screen. Clint sighed and dropped his head back against the chair. Nat elbowed him in the ribs and he let his head flop to the side to glare at her. She rolled her eyes and nodded towards the screen, indicating for him to pay attention. "Cardinal Bottego." Hill continued, and Clint finally looked at the screen. "We have reason to believe that he means to assassinate the Pope during the next consistory."

"There are easier methods than impersonating a Cardinal." Nat observed, her tone a mix of disgust and awe. "He's been playing the long game."

"But why?" Clint asked. "Does he want to get himself elected Pope or something?"

"Not that we can tell." Fury said. "Our best guess is that he's going to pin the murder on another one of the Cardinals to start problems among the College."

"So what do you want us to do? Kill him?" Clint smirked. Missions weren't nearly as much fun if he didn't get to shoot someone.

"No. You and Romanov will be going in separately undercover. You are to gather as much intel as you can and prevent the assassination by any means necessary. However, we'd prefer if you could bring Bottego back alive."

Clint pouted. "Fine. But I'm not making any promises."


	2. Chapter 2

The Italian summer made it impossible for Phil to wear his suit jacket during the day. Conveniently, there was never anyone around to see Phil stripped down to just his undershirt. Barton and Romanov were both set up in the field and only checked in through the radio. They were his eyes and ears while he holed himself up in the stifling yellow and brown hotel room. There was no back up for the op. If something went wrong, they'd have to handle it themselves. Fury had said that limited presence was necessary for the mission, but Phil knew that this op was a test to see if the three of them could actually work as a team.

He leaned a little closer to the single window, trying to get to the hint of a breeze outside. The table in front of him was cluttered with Phil's notes and his laptop. He was currently trying to simultaneously track the Vatican cctv they had hacked, email an update to Fury, and sort out the latest bunch of images Romanov had sent him. It was tedious work and it had been all he'd been doing since they'd arrived. He was used to desk work, but trying to be on-task 24/7 was starting to wear on him. It didn't help that he felt like he essentially had the Pope's life in his hands.

The comm in his ear sat heavy and silent. The nature of their covers meant that Romanov and Barton could only check in sporadically and Phil had to keep the comm in constantly so that he wouldn't miss them. He had known going in that the communication difficulties would trigger some of the things he was still fighting to keep buried and he'd been preparing himself for it. But the silence still seemed to echo through him. There was something about the idea that Barton was out there but that Phil couldn't reach him that was just a touch too much like the 7 months when Barton had been dead.

A small voice in the back of his head wondered how long it would take for him to notice if Barton vanished from the mission. The thought kept him from being able to relax. He would alternate between pacing the room and staring out the window, straining to see the walls of the Vatican where Barton was. Or where he was supposed to be. But Barton had never gone AWOL during a mission before, and Phil was having to rely on that. Trusting on the Barton who he had fallen in love with and trusted so wholeheartedly rather than the one who had violently ripped Phil's world out from under him.

They had been in Rome for a week already, and so far Bottego had been the model Cardinal. Barton was stationed as an assistant to one of the other Cardinals, who SHIELD had helped a few years before when his nephew had fallen in with Hydra. It gave them access to everything that happened even behind closed doors and allowed for Barton to report on every of Bottego's words and actions. As dull as they had so far been.

Romanov's cover as a tourist allowed for her check-ins to be much more frequent than Barton's and they had been extremely more entertaining and enlightening. She was always able to relay the necessary information but couldn't resist adding a bit of drama or flare to her methods of how she got said information. It reminded him a bit of Fury in his field days. It was doing nothing for Phil's jealousy. With every interaction and passing day, Phil saw a bit more of the real Natasha Romanov and each piece he saw made it easier for him to understand why she and Barton got along so well.

Phil perked up at the buzz of static in his ear. "Coulson, we have a problem." Romanov's voice was hushed and hurried. From the faint echo he heard he figured she had slipped into a bathroom. "I saw Bottego talking with one of the Vatican Guards earlier and it looked like they were up to something."

Phil smiled slightly, glad that things were maybe going to start picking up finally. "Did you manage to overhear anything?"

"I couldn't get close, but I managed to zoom in with my video camera. I just sent you the recording." A file popped up on Phil's laptop and he opened it. The footage was slightly grainy, but he could make out the target easily. "I've tried reading their lips, but I was only able to catch bits and pieces."

"I'll see what I can do and send it back to HQ for a better analysis." Phil e-mailed the file while speaking. The techs had done miracles with a lot worse before. "But what did you figure out?"

"It sounds like whatever Bottego has planned is going down tomorrow. He and the guard were discussing the easiest way to get into the catacombs without being seen. My recommendation is to have Barton place a tracking chip on Bottego so that we can follow his movements." She finished in a rush before quickly disconnecting. The last thing Phil heard was the sound of approaching footsteps. He wasn't worried. Romanov was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Phil flipped a switch on his comm that would allow him to speak just with Barton without Barton being able to respond. It was a newer function that R&D was still working out the kinks on, but Phil had been more than happy to test it for them. It was easier to keep his emotions in check if he didn't actually hear Barton's voice. It allowed him to fool himself into thinking that he was still able to keep his personal issues out of the equation.

"Barton, Bottego is making his move. Will relay full information when it becomes available, but we know it has something to do with the catacombs. If possible, place a tracker on Bottego. Check-in with status at next available time."

He quickly flipped back to the normal comm line. Less than 30 seconds, but somehow his heart was racing and his hands were white-knuckled in their grip on the edge of the table. He was a grown man, for fuck sake. He shouldn't get nervous about talking to someone he'd once been able to tell everything to. He shouldn't be feeling an uneasiness about when Barton would be able to report back to him and already be planning out the conversation in his head. He should be focusing on trying to analyze the footage Romanov had sent him. The whole reason he was stuck in this stupid fucking hotel room was to keep the Pope safe, damn it.

Phil rubbed at his face with both hands, wiping away the sweat that beaded his forehead. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing himself a few seconds to try and re-compose himself. He'd lived through worse missions than this and had learned to deal with every type of agent there was, a few more days with Barton wouldn't kill him. Only it wasn't just a few more days. There would be hundreds more missions, millions of conversations, and thousands of times when Phil once again would have to face a bruised and bleeding Barton and pretend that it didn't kill him inside.

More than anything, Phil just wanted to be able to forget what Barton had done. He wanted to be a normal person who didn't place trust above everything else and who could maybe forgive Barton's betrayal. But that wasn't who Phil was and he knew he would never be able to forget. His only hope was that, given enough time, he could slowly allow his trust to be rebuilt. He just didn't know how long that would take or if Barton would still be waiting for him when it happened.

Phil's computer dinged as a new e-mail popped up from the techs back at HQ. Phil took one last second to wrestle his emotions into a small box that he shoved into the back corner of his mind. He could deal with all of that later. Right now he had a job to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Putting a tracker on Bottego had been harder than it should have been. Mostly because the vestments everyone was wearing, while being loose and otherwise easy to "accidentally" brush against, were smooth and flowing. But he'd gotten it done and had updated Coulson; whom he hadn't heard from since. He assumed the man was busy listening to whatever Bottego was planning and sorting out a plan of attack, but Clint was getting tired of sitting on his ass twiddling his thumbs.

It was nearly nightfall and Natasha had said that that was when shit was supposed to go down. After placing the tracker, Clint had retired to his assigned room, awaiting further orders. The comm in his ear was tiny and invisible to any but the closest observations but it felt like a lifeline for him and an anchor. He had spent the last 10 months waiting for a chance to be exactly where he was now: back in the field with Coulson. But he hadn't been prepared for Phil's terseness.

Watching the shadows lengthen across his room, Clint's mind began to wander to things he'd been pushing back for the last couple weeks. Things like how Phil had said way back when Clint had come back that work was work. That personal feelings would never interfere. And Clint laughed at how blatant of a lie that was. This mission was supposed to see if they could still work as a team but that was impossible. They could function, yes. They could accomplish any task set to them, because they still knew exactly how the other one worked. But they weren't a team anymore. There were no more casual conversations over the comms. No jokes. No bantering. Hell, more often than not their conversations weren't even actually conversations given the new feature that R&D had added.

And Clint hated it.

Hated the emptiness that clawed outward from the jagged hole where his heart was supposed to be. Hated how easy and familiar this all felt and how easily his mind kept forgetting the past 10 months. Hated that he had let his fear get the best of him. Hated that he'd walked away from something that he now realized was the thing that he needed most.

But at least he had Natasha. Finding a kindred spirit in her had been the one saving grace of the fuck-up that this year had been. And he loved her. In a way he could never put words to, he loved her. She was so like him. They had both had screwed up childhoods and had both let that become their driving force, the reason they fought so hard to be something better. She knew that there were some things that Clint would never talk about just as he knew she had topics she avoided. That was the whole reason Clint had chosen to bring her in instead of simply killing her. He had wanted to give her the same opportunity Coulson had given him. He'd known she would accept him, just as he had accepted Coulson.

The first tear slipped out before Clint knew it was coming. He bit down on his tongue and focused on steadying his breathing. He couldn't afford to think about Phil right now. This wasn't the appropriate time for a breakdown. That was after the mission, after they saved lives and were badasses, that was when Clint could go home to his new apartment and collapse onto the new bed that held none of Phil's smell in it and he could hate what his life had become.

"Barton." Coulson's voice in his ear snapped Clint to attention, fully back into a mission mindset.

"Sir?" He wasn't sure if Coulson was still on the one-way function or not. "We have anything?"

"Yes. Bottego has a past we weren't aware of. Someone very skilled managed to bury it deep. Apparently he isn't an orphan like we thought. His family were terrorists in southern Italy. They specialized in explosives."

Clint nodded, understanding. "So Bottego's gonna blow something up."

"More likely he's going to blow someone up."

Clint heard the attempt at humor and it ripped through him. It was so welcome, like a drop of rain in a desert, but it just served to make him miss thunderstorms. "He mentioned the catacombs. Do we think he's planted the bomb down there?"

"Possibly. Right now Romanov is working on the other development."

"Which is?"

"How Bottego went from childhood terrorist to Cardinal. There's a sect within the college that has been –"

Clint cut Coulson off, "Is this going to get political?"

"Yes." He could just barely hear the hint of the smile that Phil was surely trying to suppress. "I'll just give you the highlights. How's that?"

"Much appreciated. Never could abide grand schemes." Clint wanted to take back the words as soon as he said them. He could feel the way that they had come out to mean so much more than he wanted them to. Sure enough, when Coulson next spoke his voice was measured and even, any hint of easiness gone.

"A group of Cardinals, I'll call them the sect for current identification, are unhappy with the dynamics of power within the Church. They created a huge plot that would swing power into their favor. Bottego was hired to go undercover long-term within the Church, working his way up to Cardinal. They needed his skill-set and they needed a fall guy in case things went south. The sect collaborated to get the current Pope selected. Now they plan on having dozens of the more powerful Cardinals' relatives murdered. Bottego would then assassinate the Pope and frame it to look like retaliation from the grieving Cardinals. In the chaos, the sect would assume control."

Clint took a second to sort all of that through his mind before asking the first question that popped into his head. "How do we know all of this?"

"That is not information that you need to know."

Clint blinked in shock. Well then. Apparently they were resorting all the way back to their original team dynamic: Clint did what Coulson said, no questions asked. He swallowed back the heartache and anger that wanted to come spilling out. He deserved this, just like Phil deserved to do this to him. "Orders, sir?"

"You are to abduct Bottego immediately. Romanov will be waiting at exit point 13 to assist you in transferring him to the hotel."

"Understood." Clint wasn't sure if Coulson heard him or not as the comm cut out quickly. He could still contact him again with just the push of a button. Clint wanted to; to just click on the comm, say "I'm sorry for everything, Phil. I can't live with having hurt you. What can I do to make it up to you?" But Clint stayed silent. Phil already knew all of that and he had told Clint exactly what he could do. He could keep his distance and let Phil decide on his own whether he was ever going to trust Clint again. Meanwhile, Clint would do everything in his power to make sure Coulson never had a reason not to trust him again.

-;-

There was a single sharp knock on the door and Coulson opened it to let Romanov and Barton drag an unconscious Bottego into the room. He closed the door behind them as they laid the man out on the only bed. There was a small trickle of blood streaked across the man's face and one of his eyes was beginning to bruise. "I said unconscious but uninjured." He chided, crossing to examine the Cardinal's wounds.

"He resisted." Barton explained. Phil spared a moment to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. Barton was standing at military rest with his back to the corner of the room. Everything about his stance screamed that he was on edge and ready to flee if he had to. It reminded Phil of the way Barton had stood during his first few debriefings; always waiting for Phil to say that he had done one too many things wrong and that he was no longer needed. "I used the minimal force required to accomplish the mission objective, sir."

"Understood." The cut on Bottego's head wasn't deep, it probably wouldn't even need any stitches. Phil turned to Natasha, who was leaning almost casually against the far wall. He wasn't fooled by her body language; she was just as tightly wound as Barton and just as likely to bolt. "Have you made any progress on the explosive's location?"

She shook her head. "Given his earlier conversation I believe we can safely assume it is somewhere in the catacombs. But it would take far too long to search through all of them. By that point the sect will have realized that their plan has fallen through. I am positive at least one of them would also know how to detonate the device. They have invested far too many years into this to let it all rest on Bottego."

Phil agreed with her. This wasn't just a simple point-and-shoot assassination. There were layers and stages that all needed to run smoothly. The sect would be watching every step closely and they didn't have long before someone realized that Bottego was missing from his rooms.

"What about the families?"

Phil glanced at Barton who hadn't shifted from his military stance, his face as impassive as Phil had ever seen it. "Fury has teams on the ground to handle that front. So far we have intercepted a total of thirteen assassins without the families being any the wiser." Phil didn't mention the seven other teams who had showed up too late. "That is not our priority at the moment. We are the only team in a position to handle Bottego. We can't be sure how the sect will react when they discover that their plan is going sideways. Our best course of action is getting Bottego to tell us the location of the bomb before they can do any serious damage."

He turned towards Natasha who was eyeing him warily. "I assume I'm to be doing the interrogation?" Her voice was tightly controlled ice. He knew from what little they had in SHEILD's file that Romanov was an expert at gathering information in whatever way was required, but he wasn't sure if she would be willing to continue that line of work for SHIELD. From what he'd seen of her the last few months, she had been trying to distance herself from the seedier side of her past. But they needed this information and she was the one who was most likely to get it quickly.

"I need Barton with me in the catacombs. He's got a mind for mazes and will ensure we don't get lost down in the tunnels." Phil spared another quick glance at Barton who seemed to be only half-listening to the conversation. Instead finding a point on the far wall much more interesting. "You needn't use undue force. But the sooner we can get an exact location, the better."

Natasha sighed slightly before nodding. "Of course."

"Thank you." Phil hurriedly gathered his weapons. The sun had finally sunk below the horizon and the darkness outside would be enough to grant them the cover they needed to sneak into the catacombs. He wasn't thrilled about being alone with Clint in such a confined space for an extended period of time but there was no other option. Even with both of their training, Phil was by far the best of the three of them at defusing explosives and he would need Clint's mind to get them out of the tunnels before they starved to death.

As he moved he heard Barton assisting Romanov in maneuvering Bottego into the very chair where Phil had spent the better part of the last week. He could just make out the distinctive sound of zipties. Not that they would be necessary; Bottego wouldn't be going anywhere if Romanov didn't want him to. There was a momentary flash of doubt through Phil's mind at the wisdom of leaving Romanov alone on her very first mission for SHIELD but he quickly pushed it aside. He'd watched her closely the last 3 months and she had never shown even the slightest hint of unease at her current situation. From what he had seen, it had seemed as if she actually might be enjoying her chance to right her past wrongs. A part of him knew his trust of her stemmed from the fact that Clint trusted her too, but he still wasn't ready to acknowledge that part right now.

Fully armed with anything he might possibly need, Phil headed out of the room. When he didn't hear Barton's footsteps right behind him like he'd expected, he said "We're moving out, Barton." Phil kept walking, pulling the door open and trusting Barton to follow him. The door had almost shut behind him before he heard a slight flurry of motion and then Barton was a half-step behind him, once again covering Phil's back.


End file.
